


Whouffaldi Week 2017 Prompt Fills

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fic, Whouffaldi Week 2017, WhouffaldiWeek2017, dumb slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: A new year, a new Whouffaldi week! Characters and tags to update as necessary.Day One: caretaker shed; broom, bucket, intruder; “I don’t remember leaving that out.”Day Two: birthday party; explosionDay Three: baby, bed, confusion





	1. Wednesday

Clara was beginning to get antsy, sitting on the workbench as she watched him fritter their late-afternoon away. A couple days ago, the TARDIS had picked up something on her scanners when he had dropped her off from their Wednesday adventure, which lead to him taking up residence in the Coal Hill caretaker’s position once again. He was fiddling with some small, silvery device that appeared to be a simple remote to her yet was of much greater importance to him.

“Either put that down or tell me what that is,” she said, tone of voice deeply bored. She was on her mobile, trying not to go mad in the dark, funny-smelling shed that was Mr. Atif’s—now the Doctor’s—office. “I will take off for home without you and then you’d have to walk.”

“I’d take the TARDIS,” he replied.

“Then it’s a shame that that’s what I’d be taking home, unless you forgot that it’s how we both got here today.”

He paused for a moment and considered it, before saying, “It’s an infrared communications disrupter. I’m building one because the only other I can find is the incorrect frequency.”

“Fair enough, but can you do that at the flat? This place creeps me out—I don’t know how Mr. Atif can stand it.”

“Try asking him when the hyperhypnosis wears off.” The Doctor finally put down the screwdriver (manual, as his shades were perched atop his head), and shook the communications disrupter. There was no rattle and was thusly deemed ready for a field test. “One last go and we’re off, yeah?”

“If you say so,” she replied. Clara hopped off the workbench as she watched the Doctor put the disrupter in a bucket and grab hold of a broom on his way out the door. “Uh, don’t you want a mop for that?”

“Why would I need a mop if I don’t need to mop something?” he wondered. “I’m simply _blending in_ , Clara… it’s to go with the coat.”

“Shut up and put the broom down,” she ordered. He immediately did and grabbed a mop instead, still not entirely sure why, but not wanting to make her cross. They exited the shed and began to wander about the now-empty school, checking the disrupter every so often to make sure nothing had triggered its mechanism.

Everything was very quiet, so much so that it was nearly eerie. The bucket did not make so much as a single peep, which disappointed the Doctor greatly, as this meant that he needed to wait just a while longer for the threat the TARDIS had warned him about.

“Come on, Clara,” he whined as they reentered the shed. “Just a while longer?”

“No—you set the sensors up, so we should be okay to go back home and have some dinner,” she said. “We can always pop back if they catch something.”

“Are you… what do the pudding-brains call it… _hangry_ , Clara?”

“Yes, Doctor, I’m hangry and if we don’t start cooking dinner soon then I’ll likely snap something in half out of frustration.”

“Takeaway it is then,” he decided. The Doctor nearly had all of his tools off the workbench when he noticed his space-solder-gun sitting on a stool. “Huh… I don’t remember leaving that out.” A split second later and he deposited all his tools in the bucket, flipping his sonic shades down on his face and crouching at the ready, startling Clara. “Who’s there?!”

“Relax Doc; it’s just me,” answered a voice. Courtney stepped out from behind a cupboard, a small jar of paste in one hand and a mangled metal wreck in the other. “I busted Miss Baxter’s stupid sculpture thing on accident and I want to fix it without her knowing.”

“Let me see,” Clara said. Courtney passed the metal to her for a look-over; it was one of Baxter’s odd little sculptures she kept on her desk alright, though which one she wasn’t able to tell. The only thing that was clear enough was where the break was and that the teen had been attempting to put it back together. “Why were you in her room?”

“Have her last period and forgot my mobile there,” Courtney claimed. “I was nearly home when I realized it too.”

“Pity—give it here,” the Doctor interrupted. He snatched it from Clara’s grasp and soldered the metal bits to one another before handing it back to Courtney. “Fixed it.”

“You did it upside down,” she frowned.

“As if Miss Baxter would be able to tell anyhow; now shoo.” He put his hand on the tween’s back, right between her shoulder blades, as he pushed her towards the shed door. “Now, if you excuse us adults… we have work to do.”

“Okay, but you should know that Miss Oswald’s probably more horngry than hangry, Doctor,” Courtney smirked. “Just a warning.” The Doctor blinked in confusion, taking a moment for the TARDIS’s translation circuit to figure out a meaning for the new bit of slang that he was exposed to.

“…oh.”

“ _‘Oh’_ , what?” Clara asked from the TARDIS door. “What did Courtney say?”

“Nothing—thinking out loud,” he replied. The Doctor tossed the rest of his things into the bucket and went into the ship, following his companion. “Say, how about a trip, Clara? I know it’s not Wednesday, but we can nab some excellent food in Paris, if you’d like. I know a café that you’d love; want to at least try the food this time, since last I was there I only had water.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said with a smile. His hearts melted, for it was the smile that always got to him, no matter what. He set the coordinates and threw the TARDIS into drive—they were off.


	2. Thursday

A series of deep, low rumbles shook the ground and surrounding cave walls as the Doctor and Clara sprinted hand-in-hand away from the mob of angered locals. They could nearly appreciate the absurdity of the situation and how it felt more like some sort of adventure novel from the days between when they were in vogue and when most were seen as pulp racism, but their personal survival was a bit more important at that moment then having a laugh, which only made them run all the harder.

“If we survive this, I am going to kill you,” Clara hissed. They turned down a tunnel, going deeper into the cave system as their three-armed, one-eyed attackers kept pace.

“You convinced the Council to give me more regenerations; as if you would,” he replied.

“What did you say? Dying is like man-flu for your kind?”

“In a sense.”

“…then I am going to give you a _serious_ strain of man-flu, which can also kill, by the way.”

“Point made—ah! The TARDIS!”

Sure enough, their blue, boxy savior was up head in the tunnel, light atop flashing in a sort of signal beacon that the Doctor was picking up with his shades. The door opened and closed for them automatically, with the controls already set so that the pilots didn’t need to do much to toss themselves and everything else with them into the vortex.

“How about we never do that again? Clara said between gasping breaths. She could feel the slight, familiar, nearly comforting way the ship was drifting along, which was a complete contrast to her pounding heart. “That was awful.”

“We’ve seen worse.”

“They wore feather skirts and had an arm atop their heads where you and I have our hair.”

“Okay, so they weren’t the best to look at, but…” He glanced over, seeing that she was still leaning on the console for support, her body shivering slightly. “Are you alright?”

“No, but give me a mo’.”

A couple of mo’s passed and Clara was still breathing heavier than the Doctor felt comfortable with. That was the trouble doing all the running that he did with someone that lacked a respiratory bypass: everyone else had their limits. Going to her, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin atop her head. She then pulled his arms in closer, pressing their bodies together so that her back was flush with his chest.

“We about died,” she frowned.

“Yeah.”

“…for real this time.”

“Yeah.”

“…that was _amazing_.”

The Doctor gently turned Clara around and kissed her gently, not only because he really needed to transfer some oxygen to her, but because he merely wanted to. He could feel her breathing calm, her pulse normalize, and her body loosen as the adrenaline-fueled tension melted away into comfort and security.

“Happy birthday, Clara Oswald.”

“…and hopefully many happy returns,” she chuckled before kissing him again. It was definitely worth the life-endangering risks to have these moments with her space-beau, and even though she wasn’t about to admit it, she’d do it all over again.


	3. Friday

The Doctor threw the TARDIS into park (or, more into park than a vehicle with the parking brake on can already be), and went into Clara’s flat completely without warning, figuring the sound the ship made in a landing was warning enough. He took a quick glance around and could not find his companion anywhere, which was rather odd considering the time of day.

“…Clara…?”

A rather upset noise came from her bedroom and he followed it, finding a baby laying down on Clara’s bed. The poor tiny human was so upset that even the translation circuit had a difficult enough time working out what it was saying, meaning that the alien had no idea what was happening.

“Don’t worry, Clara! I’ll fix this!” he promised the baby in a panic. He knew Clara was small, but this was too small for his comfort. He turned to dash back into the TARDIS and ran into the actual Clara, causing him to gasp in surprise. “Clara! But you! But I! But…!”

“Doctor, what’s going on? Why are you shouting?” she wondered. She sat on the bed next to the baby and gave the child a bottle of milk to suckle on, which eliminated the noise it was creating.

“…but I thought you were…” He pointed at the child, which she scoffed in amusement at.

“You thought I was the _baby_?” she giggled. “Oh you idiot.” She stood and gave him a quick peck on the lips and a pat on his chest. “Why would someone turn me into a baby and make sure that not only was I dressed and had on a nappy, but make sure to put pillows on either side of me so I don’t roll off the bed?”

He looked at the child and realized she was right. “Ah. Well then… um… where’d you get it…?”

“Get what, the baby?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Ava and she is the daughter of the next-door neighbor,” she explained. “Her mum needed to dash off for a moment due to an emergency and asked if I could watch her for a few hours.”

“So you agreed.”

“Yes…?”

“…but we were scheduled to go to the markets in Vetrani.”

“Interstellar flea markets can wait until after Mum comes back from making sure Great-Gran’s alright.” Clara then took bottle and baby both, passing them to the Doctor. “Can you burp her for me Mr. Dad Skills? You came just in time for me to use the loo.”

“Alright, fine,” he said. She dashed off after a quick thanks, leaving Time Lord and baby to themselves. After a burping (which did not ruin his jacket, thank goodness), the Doctor gave Ava back her bottle, slightly unnerved by the large, green eyes she was staring at him with. “Hey, it’s an honest mistake in my line of business—had several people get turned into babies on me before… though not at the same time.”

Ava stared at the Doctor, unimpressed, while she drank more of her milk. He walked with her into the sitting room and took the comfiest spot on the couch, settling himself in.

“Listen young lady: don’t give me any sass,” he warned gently. “The universe is a very small place when I’m cross with you.”

“He’s being silly, Ava—don’t listen to him,” Clara laughed. She took in the sight before her with a slight smile. “This is incredibly attractive, you know.”

“Sitting on your sofa?”

“Caring for a baby,” she clarified. Sitting down next to him, she snuggled into his side and reached for the remote to turn on the telly. “Having dad skills is a real plus—trust me.”

“Even with spit-up all over a velvet coat?” he wondered.

“ _Especially_ with spit-up all over a velvet coat,” she said. Clara’s smile grew larger as she felt his arm snake around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder, knowing that there was no escape for him now.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind then,” he mentioned. He was actually concentrating so much on Clara that he forgot to keep a good hold on Ava, whom had crawled into a halfway-standing position and grabbed his nose, her tiny baby fingernails sharp. “Ow! Now what did I say?!”

Ava simply giggle-shrieked in reply; Neighbor Lady’s manfriend sure was funny.


End file.
